


Reticent Addiction

by Evenseven



Category: Romanzo Criminale - La serie (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bad English, Dark, Denial of Feelings, Drug Use, English translation, M/M, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Random & Short, Somewhere in Season 1, honestly low quality shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 16:53:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21449536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evenseven/pseuds/Evenseven
Summary: "O'Fre, why can't we be like before?"
Relationships: Libanese/Freddo
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	Reticent Addiction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Iulie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iulie/gifts).

> This is so weird I got used to writing directly in English now, my translation is so so bad I don't know what to say. I. Am. So. Sorry.  
But, the fandom is so deserted and the ship is so cute, so why not. I want to make some (more) contribution as well.  
For the wonderful @Iulie for feeding me those beautiful fics and my Italian is progressing so fine, I promise xp. You are sweet and I hope you have a good day even after reading my shit fic :O

He scratched the Colombian white on the marble coffee table with a wrinkled poker card and took a deep inhale. At the corner of his eyes he saw the shiny desktop vaguely reflected his own face, but he couldn’t see anything clearly now, to be fair. Libanese slammed his head on the backseat of the leather sofa, the whole world in front of him was spinning, but his mind was floating above the layers of fog all the way to the clouds.

He saw an airplane passing over the cloudless blue sky that was about to land, he saw the neon lights at the entrance of the bar dyed the dim streets with a mazarine blue, he saw a cold metal in his hand shaking slightly, and the muzzle was pointing at a man whose ambiguous face he couldn’t discern.

He saw everything that he had, everything he could never get, and everything he had acquired but had lost at the end. He saw everything that he had been longing since forever, and everything he once thought he had possessed, but could not get a hold onto, after all. Like the name of the King of Rome, like killing Terribile with his own hands to revenge the humiliation and loathe, like Freddo.

No, it’s not true.

Libanese opened his eyes and refused to admit the fact of such shame. He had always been the King of Rome, no one dared to rebel against him in this city; his knife had indeed carved into the chest of the man that he despised, and the long-lasting hatred had been avenged; and he owned Freddo, it’s out of the question. Whether it was under the name of brotherhood or something else, Freddo had always belonged to him.

Freddo had always belonged to him, and only him. That’s the fact and a pretty yet foolish woman or a bootlicking sly dog could never deny.

He clenched his fists tightly, he had to do something to scratch the itch that was tingling in his heart. He wanted to prove it to others, or perhaps to himself, that Freddo had always belonged to him, that he owned everything of Freddo. He is the King of Rome, the master of everything he desired. With this in mind, he could no longer control his body from standing up, legs still weary and shaking. His arms swept over two beer bottles that he had emptied them himself, and picked up his black leather jacket from the armchair by the sofa.

In the terrified and confused glances of other men around him, he busted into the pitch-black coldness of the night without looking back.

*

“Libano,” When the door opened, Freddo was standing behind the shadow of the doorframe and frowning at him, “What are you doing here?”

“Why, I can't visit a friend of mine?” He put his hands in his jeans pockets and looked back with a blank expression. “I’m not welcomed here?”

Freddo stared at him for a moment, as if he was judging whether he was telling the truth, and finally he stepped back to loosen the clasp of door frame and gave him the acquiescence to come inside.

Freddo’s home was cold and empty. It used to be a simple warehouse-like residence. Now since there’s a “hostess” here, it has been decorated with a lot of beguiling yet useless furnitures. All those things that were not at all in line with Fabrizio Soleri, belonged to that ordinary and kindly woman.

Roberta was a good woman, Libano thought, and she looked very charming. Standing by Freddo’s side they would be an eye-catching couple. But Roberta did not belong to their world, did not belong to the Freddo who was always calm and persevered while holding a gun in hand, did not belong to the kingdom created by their gang.

Libanese did not like Roberta, it's nothing new at all. Since the woman’s appearance, his relationship with Freddo has fallen to a freezing point. Freddo had alienated from the entire gang more and more each day, attending way less in group meetings, and even became lazy and mindless in their business. To be honest, this might have sprouted even before Roberta, but the woman was now very close to dragging Freddo completely away from the gang.

He couldn’t allow such thing to happen, at least not tonight.

“So, what’s that you want to say?” Freddo walked over to the sofa and picked up a box of cigarettes from the coffee table. He didn’t even look at Libanese and didn’t ask if he wanted a cup of coffee or a bottle of beer, as if they just met, yet the man was already tired of dealing with him.

He hated this feeling, hated the look in Freddo’s eyes that were even colder than usual, hated this awkward and tensioned atmosphere between them, like they were completely irrelevant to each other, and the only thing left was material demand and selfishness.

Once intimate, that turned into a fraction of bubble in a blink.

“I just wanted to see how you are. You don’t come to the bar often lately.” He found his tone as cold as the other’s, even though the powder he had just sucked into his nose still made his blood pumping and head swollen. He uncontrollably greeted the man with the same stoic face: “Is Roberta not here?”

“She has her own home to stay, you know.”

Libanese almost laughed, but the corner of his mouth raised as he sneered: “Oh? I didn’t know this before.”

“What the fuck do you want?” Freddo lightened up a cigarette, and icy glare from his eyes sliced directly through the smoke and found Libanese’s ones.

Libanese suddenly felt that the way those lips moved when exhaling smoke was so charming, and he just couldn't form a word.

"I don't want to fight with you," Freddo sighed, finally taking back a bit of that indifferent attitude and the sharp gaze. “Just tell me, why are you coming tonight?”

“O’Fre’,” It seemed like he would need some more Colombian white after all, the withdrawing from the drugs made him start to feel this drumming headache, and even his voice was shaking slightly now, "Why can't we be like before?" Libanese could hear his own tone losing all the tranquility and arrogance he had always wanted to uphold. He hated that the white powder residue in his system was coming down from its strength that made him sound so helpless, as if he was begging for something which he just disgusted.

Right at this moment, he was falling from the throne. He's no longer the King of Rome, but a heartbroken and desperate loner.

He hated himself for being so menial.

“Like before?” Freddo glared at him, those beautiful coffee-color eyes lifted and now filled with indifference and exhaustion. He didn’t look much happier being with Roberta, but somehow more gloomy and melancholy. “Libano…we don’t have a ‘before.’”

He was right, they didn’t have such thing as a before. If time goes back a few years, they would be completely strangers that had never met before. They would be struggling to live a life in the darkest corner of the big city of Rome, fight in the same way but separately. He had some pleasurable memories of the past, when he was still a naive and arrogant kid, but all of that was with Dandi, Bufalo, Scrocchiazeppi, and Sara...He and Freddo, on the other hand, there was nothing between them can be called as “before” that they could cherish.

“No, you are wrong.” He heard himself saying, “We used to…Fre', we used to…” He suddenly realized the distance between them was dangerously close, but he didn’t remember walking forward. Probably credit to the drugs again, now Freddo’s face was just within inches.

Freddo's lips opened, as if he was blowing out all the remaining smoke, or there was something he wanted to say, but he kept silent in the end. Freddo was about the same height as him, but at the moment such tiny height difference was too obvious that Libanese couldn’t see Freddo’s eyes, as the latter lowered his head. Libanese just wanted to see that pair of beautiful brown eyes that used to appear in his dreams more often than enough. Although his dreams became more and more distorted recently, this only added more on his desire to look into those eyes intimately again. So he reached out his hands which trembled in mid-air, and finally fell on the sharpe line of the other man's chin.

Perhaps he would never admit, but Freddo had always look so beautiful, not the kind of soft appearance that would be found on women, but the masculine type of toughness and beauty. His fingertips slid over the side of his dark beard, which was trimmed to just the right length. It was not the smooth skin he was familiar with, but he couldn't refrain from clenching his fingertips and pressing his lips on the other's sharp cheekbone. The kiss was just a little shy away Freddo’s ear, and lingered a few instants longer than what could be called pure friendship, but he did not go any further. When he retired, Libanese was gratified to see that the other man's eyes finally lifted up.

Those eyes, now pierced through all layers of defensive and cold rejection, were so bright and clear, with a tone of gentleness and heat that completely differed from his name. This Freddo could only be found in the moment of intimacy, like this exact moment.

_His_ Freddo was prettier than the most beautiful whore in Rome.

Libanese wanted to lean over to kiss him, but he didn't feel like being pushed away by the other man, and or being scolded to get the fuck out in a harsh tone, so he looked into the eyes of Freddo as a silent request for permission. Freddo's hot breath brushed on his cheek, his bright eyes fell on his lips, then he nodded tacitly.

He didn't waste any time to hesitate, the next moment their lips pressed together almost like in a rush. This kiss was nowhere near gentle, with some impatience and stiffness, but he liked it this way. A reminder from both physiological and psychological aspect that he was not kissing a fragile woman, and he did not need to move tenderly and pretend to be a gentleman, something that he never really was. Libanese tasted tobacco from the other's lips and then bit down Freddo's lower lip ruthlessly. Freddo didn't do anything to hinder his movement. He seemed to be in some stage of psychological struggling as he staying in the same position. It was only after a while that he finally made up his mind to earnestly engage in this kiss. In response to his enthusiasm, the entangled dance of their lips became more and more fierce.

Like two beasts biting each other, Libanese thought, a rashness that’s full of craving and possessiveness, yet couldn’t hide the treasure for each other.

Freddo was never a man who withstood invasion passively, but after the long kiss his slightly misty eyes lifted up and looked into the other’s eyes. His mouth opened again trying to say something, but those slightly swollen red lips let out only a sigh, and was all the permission Libanese ever needed.

*

Later that night Freddo was kneeling on the soft sofa as Libanese trying to spread the other's legs further apart, and he could only clenched onto the back of the sofa with his hand tighter to support his upper body.

Libanese tried to control his movement as he felt Freddo was trembling like himself, and although Freddo choked back every single sound by bitting his lips, he knew it wouldn’t be easy for him to be entered with only saliva as lubrication. But how much he missed this feeling of embracing Freddo from behind, of warm skins clasped against each other, of Freddo’s soft curls brushed through his forehead, and how he used his tongue to lick away the shinny sweat on the back of his the necks. Just because he was so addicted to this kind of pleasure, and he was not willing to let go of this precious opportunity in any sense. The only thing Libanese could do was to plant small kisses on his shoulder and neck, trying to give him a little more time to get used to the feeling.

His pulse was pumping so fast, half because of his dry throat from coming down from drugs, half because of the excitement of owning Freddo. The pleasure of possessiveness that came before now has reached its apex as his arms wrapped around Freddo’s torso, his cock buried deep inside his body.

This might be exactly what he needed. Although there was never any promise, the scene of Freddo's muscular arms shaking faintly in front of him was already the best proof that, he still owned all of Freddo.

“Move.” He couldn't see the other man's expression, but he heard Freddo squeezed out a word through the edge of his teeth.

He could still feel Freddo’s ass clenched on him like crazy, but since he had already asked, what was him to refuse? This won’t be his problem, and Libanese just did not care.

Libanese's hands climbed up to the side of his waist, lingered tenderly a few more seconds before grabbing firmly into the flesh. Freddo's body had always been kind of slender, but the beautiful muscle lines on his waist were still visible to eyes, and these curves fit his palm exactly. This was the thing he obsessed with, so different from any whore he ever shagged.

After waiting for such a long time, he finally started the movement with his hip. Although the thrill of mastery and possession had already eroded his brain, he started the pace slowly and steady. Freddo trembled violently for a second, planting his elbows onto the backrest of sofa to hold himself stable, as if he was supporting his body with all the strength. He guessed that it was because of the dizziness caused by pain, but Freddo only bit his lower lip and kept silent.

After a dozen more thrusts, the precum squeezed out from his cock finally helped to make his movement much more smoother. Sensing the man in his arms relaxed a little bit, Libanese began his merciless attack. His fingers clasped the other's waist as lever, pulling almost all the way out before slammed back into Freddo. The soft flesh on Freddo’s backside slammed against his thighs in a harsh rhythm, and the painful wheezing finally turned into low moans of pleasure.

His right hand found Freddo’s swollen cock, secretly euphoric seeing the honest reaction of the other’s body, and he started pumping the heated shaft in the same rhythm as his thrusting. Freddo could no longer hold back his grunting, and his voice turned Libanese's mind into mash in an instant. Sexual or some other kinds of pleasures rushed all the way from this brain to his groin. This complicate glee was too strong, and he couldn’t even tell where precisely this satisfaction came from.

Maybe this was what he wanted to get from those white powder. Libanese thought, but Freddo could give him something better, Freddo had always been better.

“Libano… I…" Freddo wanted to say something to him, again, but his voice was already too hoarse because of the lust. His head turned to the side just a little, and Libanese wasted no time to capture his lips and sealed the words that he was about to say.

He didn't want to listen, he didn't have the courage to listen.

He didn't know what kind of words he could take with his current nerves, without breaking down to beg for loving or crashing the other man’s spine in rage and humiliation.

“Fre’…you-you are mine,” he heard himself saying, calling his name trembly between the gasps and moans, “Fabrizio…”

Freddo’s thighs quavered fiercely, still panting, their breathe overlapped, and Libanese's arms wrapped around the other's waist as the two of them reached climax almost at the same time.

This was indeed what he had always been eager to get, Libanese concluded at the end. It was a kind of the most profound and reticent addiction that made him lose his mind and sink into the dark abyss, every single time he thought about it.

*

“Libano,” Freddo was still naked lying on the sofa and smoking a cigarette, his half-closed eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, as if he was still lost in the ardor, but what he said was the totally opposite. “This is where we part ways.”

“What-the fuck does that supposed to mean?” Libanese just finished a bottle of beer, he put down the empty bottle on the coffee table, looking back at the other man with a hint of surprise and confusion.

“You heard what I said,” Freddo glanced at him, his eyes were filled with coldness and alienation yet again. “And you know I was not wrong.”

“I don’t—”

He did not continue, clearly understood what Freddo meant, and he knew very well that he had to face the reality one day. They would eventually part ways, sooner or later. They would eventually spill up for their own future, just like how they came from disparate past.

Now he desperately needed something that could make him forget such a cruel reality, maybe he could go back to the bar, just in time to catch some of the remaining powder left on the pool table. He won’t admit that he’s addicted to those things, won’t admit that he was seeking the thrill of pumping veins and flying high, even if only for a split moment. He won’t admit that he loved a certain someone, or that he still had the ability to love.

“You should go now,” Freddo slowly blew out a smog, his voice was as cold as his name. “Maybe tomorrow, we can talk about it again.”

“Hm, you are right, maybe.” His head was aching so badly now. Libanese didn't dare to cast any more glance at Freddo, fearing to see that kind of rejection on his face.

He put on his dark leather jacket and walked back to the same way he had come from. When his hand grabbed onto the cold doorknob, a sturdy itch at the bottom of his heart almost wipe away his sanity, but he bit down his lip and didn’t say a word. He didn't say goodbye to Freddo, didn't ask him if he had some white powder that could resolve that itch, didn't admit that he loved him, now or at any moment.


End file.
